They Call It Puppy Love
by thisisnotmybeautifulhouse
Summary: "It smells like Scott in here." "Do you need to talk to him or something?" "Or something." Or: Stiles takes a pining Isaac under his wing, finishes his sophomore year of high school, and inadvertently begins co-parenting a pack of teenage werewolves. And all he wanted to do was keep them all alive.
1. Taking in strays

**So, in light of the way everything went with ****_Until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest_****, I decided to actually finish this fic before reposting it to this site. Please note that the two 'verses have absolutely nothing to do with each other. **

**At this point, I only have plans for this one fic in this particular 'verse, but I haven't ruled out entirely the idea of writing a oneshot for it here and there.**

**The song for this chapter is Alanis Morisette's ****_Hand in My_**_ Pocket_, because it fits Stiles and Isaac to a "T".

* * *

By the time the cruiser is pulling out of their driveway, Stiles has finished putting away the dishes he and his dad used for their dinner, though the scents of onion and falafel and tzatziki linger in the air. He opens the downstairs windows to help the smell dissipate, because as appetizing as the food smelled while the were eating it, neither of them will want to wake up to it three days from now. He'll have to leave the tupperware his dad will bring back from sharing the fruits of his son's labor with the office tonight on the counter to air out, but that's something to worry about later. For now, there is a bidding war Stiles aims to win for a supply of mountain ash on Ebay.

He hadn't believed Dr. Deaton a few weeks ago when the vet told him that was where he found most of his supplies, but that same night, Stiles had checked online, and sure enough, an almost infinitesimal set of sellers on the site dealt with the nearly non-existent market for materials meant for either combatting or healing the supernatural. It makes an odd sort of sense - if someone knows what to look for, then they will find it, and if not, then on a site like Ebay, which carries out thousands of deals on a daily basis, no one will be able to accidentally stumble upon the evidence of the supernatural world. Which is how, two weeks ago, he'd bought a small arsenal of several different species of wolfsbane, and the day before, he knew the moment the first bid for the mountain ash came up.

Whoever is fighting Stiles for that mountain ash - and it isn't Dr. Deaton, because Stiles had called to ask before he ever placed a bid, which means he feels no guilt about deciding his need for the stuff takes more precedence over some unknown entity - needs to either be prepared to lose, or refreshing his page every few seconds, because the deal closes in less than thirty minutes, and Stiles plans to watch the bidding price right up until the end. Climbing up the stairs, he hums the Batman theme to himself, thumb tapping out the beat on the rail.

It's when he stands in the doorway to his room that he realizes he is not as alone as he previously believed, and he blinks, surprised by his visitor for the evening. "This is new."

Lifting his head from where he had apparently been smelling his pillow, Isaac looks up at him sheepishly. "Um, yeah. Hi, Stiles." He rubs a rueful hand through his curls and then suggests, "I can go, if you want."

Plopping himself in his computer chair, Stiles shakes his head and shrugs, trying to play this off as no big deal. "You're not bothering me. I'm just gonna be on the computer, so you're welcome to stay as long as you want." He turns to pull up the tab with what he wants, and then asks his unlikely companion, "Did you need something?"

It's quiet for a while, and Stiles lets Isaac work up to it, sensing that whatever drove the other boy here is a sensitive topic, and oddly reluctant to send him off. He wasn't lying when he said he isn't bothered by Isaac's presence - it's nice simply having someone else with him, regardless of how out of the norm it might be. It could become normal, if they both wanted. Who knows? Maybe it will.

Finally, he hears Isaac swallow softly and then say, "It smells like Scott in here."

Oh. "Oh. Uh - well, that makes sense, I guess. He's slept here enough over the years, and his mom started making him keep clothes here after he came home messy a few too many times when we were younger." Which Stiles will insist to his dying day was never actually his fault. Not that Mrs. McCall or any of the other concerned parties ever believe him. "Do you need to talk to him, or something?"

"Or something," Isaac mumbles, before saying, "But this is good, for now if - if you don't mind." There's something going on here that Stiles feels like he should understand already, something incredibly familiar about the way Isaac is acting, but it refuses to coalesce into an actual answer, staying instead on the fringes of his conscious mind (which, admittedly, might have something to do with how crowded his mind already is with other things, but that isn't exactly anything new, so - it shouldn't be this hard).

Before he can stop himself, he offers to let Isaac borrow one of Scott's shirts. "He has his own drawer." He points lazily toward the right one. "But you probably could have figured that out on your own, right?"

"Right. Um - and you're sure that it's alright?"

"Yeah, I mean, why wouldn't it be?" There's a reason, but like the other thing, it just isn't coming, so Stiles is just going to pretend that all is right with the world, and the next time Scott comes over - whenever that will be, since he literally cannot remember the last time his friend was in his room - if Scott takes issue with it, he knows all the ways to wheedle his friend's forgiveness out of him, and is fully prepared to not only take the blame for this, but to use those tactics shamelessly, because for whatever reason, Isaac is in his room, acting shy and timid and needy, all of which are things Stiles hasn't seen in the guy since before he took the bite, and somehow it all comes back to Scott.

Instead of answering, Isaac asks another question. "Any idea where he is?"

Stiles actually knows exactly where Scott is.

Although things with Allison are still nowhere near perfect, they're working on being friends, which is good for more than Scott's control over his wolf. It's allowing him to form something stronger than a temporary truce with her father, who is now the head of their entire clan of hunters - because apparently there's far more to the Argent family than those aware of the supernatural in Beacon Hills have been led to believe up until now, and depending upon how things are handled, that could be great for everyone, or completely horrible. Considering the fact that where it counts, the natures of Chris and Scott's personalities are actually far more similar than they are different, it seems likely that the relationship will prove a positive one, for which they should all be extremely grateful.

Stiles certainly is.

Right now, Scott is with Chris, discussing plans for dealing with the alpha pack, because Chris won't talk to Derek or Peter - not that anyone could blame him, since the man isn't holding a grudge, but he doesn't trust either of them after everything that has happened, which ultimately is not all that different from how he felt about them before, but now it's likely that his feelings will never change.

"He's off being Mr. Diplomat," which is still weird for Stiles to think about, since it's _Scott_, but whatever; they all have to mature at some point, "and discussing ways to keep the rest of the town from getting caught in our friendly neighborhood alpha pack's crosshairs."

Isaac makes a soft humming sound and then Stiles hears him rising from the bed and then opening what he assumes is Scott's drawer. The drawer closes and there is a rustling of fabric, followed by the slight creaking that signals Isaac's return to the bed.

After that, things are quiet, Stiles becoming so absorbed in his self-appointed mission that although he can sort of feel Isaac's presence in the back of his mind, it is almost as though he forgets until fifteen minutes later, when he becomes the proud owner of ten pounds of mountain ash. He startles poor Isaac with a celebratory whoop, and proposes that he bake cookies and help him study for the chemistry final to make up for it (and also to help banish the sort of lost look Isaac has in his eyes, because it triggers something protective in Stiles that he typically only feels when his dad drinks a little too much or stays up too late and accidentally says something about his mom). Although Isaac assures him there is nothing to make up for, he accepts the offer and winds up watching him bake chocolate-chocolate chip cookies as he snuggles into one of Scott's worn out and faded hoodies, every once in a while lifting his wrists to his nose and sniffing in a way that is somehow adorably delicate but at the same time indiscrete.

They eat the entire batch while studying moles and covalent bonds and memorizing the basic facts about the first sixteen elements on the periodic table until they're both nodding over their textbooks, and then Stiles selects a toothbrush out of the pack of what was originally ten at the local Dollar Tree and gives it to Isaac, completely bypassing any discussion over whether or not he will be staying the night, and they take turns getting ready for bed. It's almost summer, and Stiles is a little concerned that Isaac will burn up wearing Scott's hoodie while he sleeps, but Isaac simply takes off his jeans and forgoes getting under the covers. It shouldn't be so easy, falling asleep lying next to someone who, until today, he has barely spent any time with outside of school and life-endangering situations, but it is, and the two of them are out not long after laying their heads upon the pillow.

In the morning, Stiles makes apple turnovers, which the two of them eat their way through on the way to school. Before Isaac parts ways with him to head to his own locker, Stiles puts a hand on his arm. "If you want to come over for dinner tonight, I'm making meatloaf."

"Won't your dad be there?" Isaac fiddles with the edge of the royal blue t-shirt he pulled out of Scott's drawer earlier in the morning, since Stiles convinced him that Scott wouldn't mind. He couldn't exactly let him go around in yesterday's clothing, could he?

"Yeah, but I mean, it'll be fine. Trust me, most of the time, my dad is like a big teddy bear. Grumbly, but generally harmless and prone to giving bear hugs."

Scott shoots Stiles a confused, slightly disbelieving look as soon as he sees Isaac wearing one of his shirts during chemistry, but then they have to take their final, and there really isn't ever a good time for the two of them to talk about it, even at lacrosse practice that afternoon, since Scott has taken Stiles' spot on the bench. Jackson must smell Scott and Stiles all over Isaac, because he keeps sending curious glances between the three of them, but thankfully nothing ever comes of that, either. The lack of questions is bound to come to an end eventually - especially since they have a pack meeting scheduled for Friday night, which is in two days, but at least they don't have to deal with it right now.

That night, his dad takes one look at the nervous kid leaning against the island in his kitchen, and raises his eyebrows at Stiles. Stiles shrugs eloquently, and so the good sheriff decides to take it in stride, welcoming Isaac to the Stilinski home. He still feels like the kid got a raw deal when he was taken in for questioning about his father's murder, and if this is an opportunity to help make up for that somewhat, then he isn't about to take it for granted. After that, Isaac relaxes marginally, and the night goes on in relative ease, the two boys retreating to study with a plate of freshly baked brownies - of which Stiles only allows his dad to take one.

They fall into a pattern over the next few days. Stiles will drop Isaac off at the Hale house to check in with Derek and Peter, who are overseeing the reconstruction, and then Isaac will make his way to the Stilinski home, where Stiles is somewhere in the process of making dinner and the sheriff is either looking at a case or doing paperwork. Somewhere along the way, they eat, Stiles bakes, and then studying happens. On Thursday night, Stiles bids on a few more pounds of powdered wolfsbane, and promises Isaac that no, it is not meant for anyone in the Hale pack - except maybe Peter, when Stiles is having a particularly bad day. But most likely not.

Having someone to take care of helps Stiles more than he anticipated when he first set out to get rid of some of Isaac's leanness through home cooked meals and baked goods and sleepovers which have somehow progressed to snuggling. It gives him something to focus on when strategizing and studying are not enough, as well as someone to talk to while his dad works late hours, and soothes an emptiness which he had been aware of for a while, but uncertain how to handle, because Stiles may not ever have had many friends - for the longest time, it was just Scott - but he is a social creature, and living inside his own head for so many weeks has not been healthy.

More than that though, Isaac seems more content than he has in all the time Stiles can remember knowing him, and Stiles would like to keep him that way. This is why, on Friday morning, Stiles corners Scott in the parking lot after sending Isaac on into the building, and asks Scott for a favor which is not, in fact, among the top ten weirdest things he has ever requested from his best friend. Seriously. There is a list, and this does not even come close to making it.

"So, could you maybe bring me some of your old clothes when you come to the pack meeting tonight?"

Scott takes his time looking up from where he had been securing his bike to the bike rack. "I think you mean could I bring _Isaac_ some of my old clothes, but yeah, I guess."

Fidgeting, Stiles bobs his head and rubs the hand not holding onto his book bag over the back of his neck. "Thanks, man."

"Look, Stiles, I don't know what is going on, but you would tell me if there was something I needed to know, right?" Uhg. This is the reason he wanted to avoid this conversation until he couldn't anymore. And it's just so confusing, because Scott is looking at him in that earnest way that says, _I'm here for you, and I love and accept you, bro_, that Stiles hasn't had directed at him in such a long time, and he has _no idea_ why Scott is choosing to use it now, of all times. Stiles is fine. Good. Great, actually. There is nothing new about Stiles to support or accept.

"Um, always, buddy." He huffs a disarming laugh and then carries on, because apparently this is something Scott needs to hear, and Stiles has quickly resigned himself to not understanding the reason for it. Among the first rules of being friends with Scott is accepting the fact that nine times out of ten, Scott's reasoning only makes sense in his own head, because the guy was just born seeing the world a bit differently than the other six billion anthropoidal members of its population. "You know me - I tend to overshare. It's kinda my thing."

After eying Stiles for a bit longer, as though searching for a sign that he is holding something back - which, really, that's so unnecessary at this point, since all Scott needs to do in order to verify something someone says is listen their old ticker for a few beats - Scott nods and changes the subject after uttering a tentative, "Yeah, okay."

When school lets out for the weekend, Stiles drives the familiar route to the Hale house, and promises Isaac that he will be back in an hour and a half for the meeting. There is a package at his front door when he gets out of the Jeep, and he may or may not pump his fists in victory, because that came just in time for tonight.

According to Dr. Deaton, it is possible to control which supernatural beings mountain ash guards against; it all comes down to intent and force of will. Stiles has plans for that if he can actually get it to work - which it should, since getting the mountain ash to work at all is the hard part. He believes that it works now, so he should be able to believe other things about it, as well, and what better way to test himself than against an entire pack of werewolves?

He brings the box into the house and deposits it in his room to mess with after he finishes making the spicy chicken casserole he started working on last night, along with the ginger-apricot muffins which he suspects he will spend half the meeting defending from all the bottomless pits in the pack. Except for Isaac. Isaac can have all the muffins he wants.


	2. Let's talk about the awkward

**Hey, ducklings! **

**A couple of things:**

**This fic is only five chapters long. So far, I don't have any plans to continue this 'verse, but I'm not ruling it out. This was never meant to be an epic length, Hale-Pack-goes-to-war kind of fic. It's more about the events leading up to that bringing members of the pack closer together. I sort of have a thing about beginnings, I suppose.**

**I don't know how the page breaks will do in this - sometimes they work, sometimes they don't. Hopefully the transitions will seem logical regardless of page break shenanigans. Besides, there aren't that many of them.**

**The songs for this chapter are Say Hi to Your Mom's ****_The Fritz_**** and ****_Let's Talk About Spaceships_**** in that order.**

**And now, on to chapter two!**

* * *

Stiles places the dishes for the pack meeting into the backseat of his Jeep and then heads back inside to deal with the mountain ash. He measures out enough for a small circle, wanting to ration his supply until he can buy more, and siphons it off into a small sandwich bag. Rooting around in his closet, he finds an old messenger bag that is no longer big enough to contain the books and supplies he needs for school, and puts the bag of mountain ash in, hoping to at least slightly reduce the strength of the scent. He washes his hands twice before leaving the house for the evening, wondering if it will even make a bit of difference.

The thing about mountain ash is that it is primarily meant to be used as a form of protection. What happened with Gerard is not the norm. It takes a special sort of perspective, a specific understanding of the workings of the supernatural world, for someone to effectively use mountain ash, which is one of the reasons it is not more widely used among the hunter community, yet is preferred by people like Dr. Deaton, who ally with or advise the beings hunters are sworn to defend the rest of the world against. Still, the possession of a substance which can be used against werewolves is more than enough to set them on edge, especially in this climate which breeds the mentality of attacking first and asking questions later, and Stiles wonders more than once on the way to the Hale house if he shouldn't have handled this differently.

There is an instantly recognizable figure waiting for him outside the house when Stiles pulls up. His arms are crossed, and while someone else might mistake that as a sign of anger - especially since only a few short months ago, Stiles would have thought the same - at this point he knows that Derek is simply concerned. If anyone else arrived on the Hale property reeking of mountain ash the way that Stiles does right now, things would get ugly faster than the human mind can process, even with the burst of adrenaline which would no doubt coarse through one's system at the sight of a transformed alpha werewolf coming straight toward the intruder without any regard for his own safety, bent on protecting his pack and his territory. Isaac is nowhere in sight, and Stiles has a feeling Derek sent him out for a run with Peter as soon as the scent of the mountain ash wafted from the Jeep toward their sensitive noses.

Stiles takes his time parking and sliding the messenger bag containing the offending substance over one shoulder, not wanting to seem anxious or guilty and risk agitating Derek further. He takes the casserole and the muffins out of the backseat and heads for the door. Derek turns to accompany him when Stiles comes within five feet, and silently demands an explanation. Instead of answering straight away, Stiles goes toward the recently finished kitchen and sets his burdens down as Derek watches him from the entrance.

Bracing his hands on the white granite counter behind him, Stiles leans back, not out of insouciance, but as a sign that he has nothing to hide. "I've been talking to Dr. Deaton a lot, lately. We've been discussing some ideas for how I can to contribute to the pack." Derek nods, unsurprised and accepting, though there is still a hint of tension in the way he holds himself. Taking it all in, Stiles chews his bottom lip and then offers, "Look, the next time I decide to try something new, I'll call first." That makes the last of Derek's misgivings fade away, which in turn makes Stiles appreciate how far the two of them have come recently. He isn't sure if it boils down to the way Stiles showed up with Lydia on the night that everything came to a head with Gerard, or if it is a dozen similar actions on his part, or even the little things Stiles does now to take care of the pack, but he knows that if he and Derek ever wind up in a situation reminiscent of their time spent in the Beacon Hills High School pool again, there will be no talk of mistrust. They both know at this point that although he gets scared, although he often hates the things he has to do in order to keep the people he cares about safe, Stiles is committed to this path as surely as if he had accepted Peter's offer of the bite months ago, possibly more committed, even, since the bonds he feels with the people in this pack are strengthened by his own heart, rather than the indefinable and sometimes changeable connection between wolves bitten or born into a pack.

He wants to keep these people safe, and in the end, Stiles thinks that will make all the difference.

Derek comes forward, away from the kitchen entrance, his stride slow and steady and doubtlessly matching the increasing ease of his pulse in the steadily calming atmosphere. "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

"Really think about that before you go through with it, because if you steal one of those muffins right now, Jackson, you won't be getting any for dessert." There's a muffled curse from behind his back as Stiles continues pulling down more plates and cups from the cabinets above the kitchen counter. Of all the traits he inherited from his mother, Stiles thinks he appreciates having eyes in the back of his head the most, especially for moments such as this.

He has to be able to keep all of the werewolves in his life on their toes somehow.

"Seriously? You're not even a werewolf! And you're not supposed to play favorites, Stilinski. Don't think we can't smell the muffin you let Isaac have before the rest of us got here. Just because the two of you are screwing -"

Whirling around, Stiles nearly drops the cups in his hands, fumbling and saving them from meeting the floor, but stumbling a bit after taking his focus away from his own gangly limbs. Two steady hands help him regain his equilibrium and then remain, and Stiles spares Derek a glance in thanks before he sets about refuting the frankly ridiculous accusation which prompted his graceless maneuver in the first place. "Excuse me? Isaac and I are _what?_" He scoffs and goes on, glad that Isaac decided to wait for Scott on the edge of the Hale property after he and Peter finally came in from their run around the perimeter, when, yes, Stiles allowed him to have a muffin. He'd much rather dispel the rumors without subjecting Isaac to this mortification, too. "Dude, we're not sleeping with each other - well, we are, but not the way you apparently think we are. We're friends, and we're pack members. Shocking as this may seem to you, not every relationship is about sex."

Jackson tears his eyes away from the steadily pulsing carotid artery, his eyes wide. "You're serious. Then what the hell is he doing wearing McCall's clothes?" He swallows and glances at the other betas gathered in the kitchen, and Boyd and Erica look every bit as surprised by this as he is. "We thought he was wearing them to cover up the fact that you two have been all over each other lately."

"The fact that you all are even discussing our non-existent sex life is just - there are no words." He shakes his head, grimacing and mentally denouncing werewolves at large. When did privacy become a myth? "And what would be the point of covering my scent up with Scott's?"

"Well," Erica starts, looking first at Derek, and then at him, uncertainly (She's been uncertain about a lot of things lately, and it all stems from the fact that she convinced Boyd to abandon the pack and everything that happened to the two of them after, both at the hands of the hunters and the alpha pack. Stiles decides to pull her aside after the meeting tonight, because she can't keep feeling so guilty all the time for doing something so natural as fearing for her life, and the life of her mate, when the important thing is that they ultimately decided to come back.), "Scott is a werewolf."

And werewolves are incredibly tactile. Even in the early days, when Derek couldn't stand Stiles, and barely tolerated Scott, he had constantly gotten into their personal space, because whether he liked them or not, he had decided to take Scott - and by extension, Stiles - under his wing. Were Isaac and Stiles involved, using Scott as a replacement for fabric softener might not have been a terrible plan, since Stiles and Scott tend to smell significantly of each other no matter what they do at this point, after so many years of living out of each other's back pockets, and it wouldn't be weird for Scott to share enough contact with another werewolf in the pack that they would be covered in his scent - especially not Isaac, since Scott seems to touch him at every opportunity when the two of them are together, though Stiles is pretty sure Scott doesn't realize it.

All of the weird glances and supportive comments his best friend has given Stiles over the last few days are making a whole lot more sense now, and it kind of makes him want to bash his head against the counter. Except that he can't, because Derek still has his hands on him, and Stiles doesn't want to do anything to make him let go - which is a concept that bears further examination at a later date, when he isn't surrounded by beings capable of discerning his every physiological response. Instead, he stares down at the glasses in his hands as though they hold the secrets of the universe, and bites his lip.

He is saved from having to think of anything to say by the arrival of Lydia, whose presence fills up the kitchen as it does whatever room she chooses to occupy, and she comes over to help him finish gathering utensils, prompting Derek to finally take his hands back.

Mere minutes after, Isaac and Scott wander in, arms slung over each other's shoulders. There is a light in Isaac's eyes that isn't normally there, and it strengthens with every glance at his companion, who smiles that carefree, sunny smile Stiles has seen nearly every day since he and his mom came to Beacon Hills to get away from Jason McCall, seemingly oblivious to the effect he is having.

Then everyone crowds around, wanting their dinner, and Stiles has to shoo them all away until he has enough room to serve Derek up a plate. He doesn't miss the startled look the alpha sends him, but Stiles shrugs it off. So, he's been researching pack dynamics lately - it isn't a big deal. He has no plans to follow them to the letter, but he feels like acknowledging Derek's position in relation to the rest of the pack, at least, is something important. He calls Isaac forward next, and things carry on as usual from there, though he winds up fielding some odd looks for his continued preferential treatment. Derek doesn't seem bothered by it, and considering this is his pack, he is ultimately the only one who could convince Stiles to stop.

Once everyone has a plate, they get down to business. Scott talks about his most recent meetings with Chris Argent, and Lydia and Jackson talk about how things have been going in terms of strengthening his control. Derek and Peter share more of what they know about the alpha pack - which admittedly, is not much, nor is it at all encouraging. They are the boogeyman of the werewolf world, waiting to swoop in when an alpha is at his weakest. The werewolves in the pack's ranks constantly undergo change, with some leaving to start their own packs, others dying because of infighting, and even more dying in conflicts with other packs, because alphas may be stronger, but they are not immortal, and the risks the alpha pack takes with their own lives constantly put them in danger. According to Derek, they are the reason he and Laura fled the state after the fire.

"So, why isn't this place claimed in the name of their big bad alpha pack already?" He almost opts not to ask, but does it all the same. Stiles may not want to know the answer, but he does want to understand the way the alpha pack thinks. The more they know about the inner workings of this new threat, the better they will be able to handle it when they finally decide to stop toying with them and strike.

"Isn't it obvious? In order to claim Beacon Hills as their territory, they have to kill the alpha, and these werewolves are lazy. They have so much power that they aren't used to having to work for what they want; they simply waltz in and take it. Chasing after two frightened young werewolves would have been far too tedious for them." Stiles doesn't understand how everyone else can listen to Peter's voice and not feel the need to take a shower, but the only one aside from him who reacts to the former alpha at all is Lydia, and she hides it well. The only reason Stiles sees the slight stiffening of her shoulders is because he is looking for it.

Then, Stiles cannot think about his or anyone else's discomfort, because the implications behind Peter's words are starting to sink in. The alpha pack has set its sights on Beacon Hills. In order to claim Beacon Hills as part of the alpha pack's territory, the local alpha will have to die. His eyes snap to Derek, horrified. Derek catches him staring, and he nods, resigned to the fact that his uncle has once again done something to stir up trouble within the pack. "So, now you know."

"Know what?"

Before Stiles - or even Lydia, who also looks as though she is about to speak - can answer Isaac's question, Boyd tells him, in a soft voice that somehow still feels too loud in the terrifying stillness that has taken over the kitchen, "The alpha pack wants Derek dead."

Isaac lets out what, to Stiles' human ears, is a nearly inaudible whine, and Scott puts an arm around him automatically, bringing him close to his side. Everyone else is still frozen, trying to deal with this new understanding of the world. It is not the concept of one of them dying that has them paralyzed, not really. At one point or another this year, each one of them has been confronted by his or her own mortality. It is the fact that they have a name, a specific person to fear for now, and it is the fact that that person is their alpha, the one they look to for protection and guidance, even if they often do not like the forms his responses take and choose to find another way.

Stiles looks around at each of the others gathered in the kitchen, taking in the varying degrees of stress and uncertainty, and feels the overwhelming urge to _do something_. He made a promise to himself, sitting alone and aching in his room after his dad told him he was a hero, that he would never sit back and do nothing when the people he cares about are in distress. Setting his mostly-finished plate down, he walks over to the cabinet where he stashed his messenger bag earlier, slings it back over his shoulder, and then turns to catch Derek's gaze again, raising his eyebrows significantly. "Why don't we try this out now?"


End file.
